


Crossover

by boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Crossover, Earn Your Happy Ending, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-03-26 00:51:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13846596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore/pseuds/boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore
Summary: Julian, Garak, Worf and Martok travel back to the battle of Wolf 359.  Julian and Garak rekindle some romance after the events in the dominion internment camp.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The events at the beginning reference the episode "Second Sight" from season 2.
> 
> In the main story, Julian, Garak, Worf and Martok travel back to the battle of Wolf 359, where locutus of borg (Picard as a Borg drone) leads a massacre that kills thousands, including Benjamin Sisko's wife.

Julian set down his mug, settling into a chair in the replimat.

“Do you remember a few years ago, when Captain Sisko was obsessed with that woman?”

Garak said distractedly, “Hm?”

The replimat was crowded today.  There were five ships waiting for repairs, and their crews were rotating through to enjoy some well-earned R&R.   

Garak had to lean close to make out Julian's next words.

“The wife of a highly regarded federation scientist. Or a projection of her personality, anyway. I couldn't understand his fascination with that woman. Fenna. They'd only just met, and he worked so hard to save her. I think he thought he was in love with her.”

Julian looked down.

“Then Jake reminded me of the date. It was the fourth anniversary of Jennifer's death. Today would be the seventh.”

Garak started to ask why he kept track, but he knew.

They were both silent for a time.

"There was nothing you could do."

Garak tilted his chin up and leaned in for a long, sweet kiss.  

He was glad to see the pain in Julian's eyes lighten, and his face relax.

Garak stroked his face gently and murmured, "It brought you back to me.  You saved us all."

\------------------------------------

“Take us to maximum warp.”

Garak's hands flew across the controls.  The runabout moved away from dominion space, and Julian was determined to leave the internment camp before the vorta noticed and sent a ship to intercept.

"We've got to get a message back to the station. Who knows what damage the changeling has already done while impersonating me.”

Garak nodded and sent the message.

His eyes twinkling, he said, "I wouldn't worry.  If he's anything like you, my dear, any attempts at subterfuge will be quite easy to see through.”

Relief was etched in both their faces, and Julian smiled.  He'd missed Garak's snark.

"I'll be in sickbay for a few minutes.  You have the conn.  Try not to break anything."

Before Garak could retort, he went to check on Worf and Martok.  They were both in a great deal of pain.  He did what he could, then walked past the bunks, looking longingly at the beds before returning to the cockpit.  

He was almost knocked off his feet as he stepped in and the ship rocked violently.  Julian had almost righted himself when it rocked again, and he walked unsteadily back to the conn. 

The console lit up; if they were to believe the readings, the runabout should already be blown to pieces. The ship lurched forward again. 

Julian's fingers furiously worked the controls, and then stopped, puzzled.

The anamalous readings had stopped. Almost as if they were never there. The only remaining reading showed a trace amount of chronoton particles.

Julian initiated a self-diagnostic, but all was normal.  

He shrugged, completely baffled.

"The runabout has been through enough stress; I suppose a few unreliable readings are to be expected," he said, but he didn't sound convinced.

"Has there been any word from the station?”

"Comm traffic has been oddly silent in this area of space.”

Julian was thrown for a moment.  

“That doesn't make any sense. Cardassia just joined the dominion. There should be communication between Starfleet command, the Bajorans, the Klingons, even the Romulans… is there really nothing? ”

Garak nodded.

“Bring up the long range sensors.”

There was a starship in the distance.  Something about it was familiar.  

_Why was there a federation starship in dominion space?_

"Magnify."

Garak's hands moved on the console and the image formed on the screen.

Julian struggled to read the ship's designation.

"NCC-1701-D?” he said in disbelief, “Computer, what is the stardate?”

“Stardare 44000.1.”

Looking incredulous, he asked, “Are you sure?”

It was a ridiculous question, but the computer responded anyway.

"Affirmative. The Stardate is 44000.1."

Garak finally broke the silence.

"If I'm correct, that's seven years ago. But surely that can't be right.  Remind me to have a talk with Chief Obrien when we get back to the station.”

Julian stared into the distance, frozen in shock.  He'd just realized.  The sensors showed a trace of chronoton particles.   _Fuck._   

"Doctor?  I daresay you don't really believe these readings?  Let's run another diagnostic."

There was no response.  

Garak leaned forward and asked softly, "What is it, my dear?"

“If we're truly in 2367, in two days, there will be a battle killing more than 11,000 people and destroying 39 starships. No, not a battle. A massacre.”

Garak shifted in his seat, saying, “Federation history isn't really one of my strengths, doctor.”

“Wolf 359. The Borg slaughtered thousands of people. Including Captain Sisko's wife."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. 

Garak finally spoke.

"I suppose it would have been too much to hope for a little R&R between imprisonment and death."

“Out of the frying pan, into the fire.”

Garak stared at him.

“My dear, are you all right? Your babbling is usually endearing, but I fear the time jump may have addled your brain.”

Julian smiled.

“It’s an old earth expression. It means to move from one type of danger to another.”

“That may be true, but I’ll take time travel over the Dominion any day.  Do you really believe these readings?”

Julian sighed.

"The trace amount of chronoton particles.  No response from deep space nine.   Radio silence in this part of space.  And why else would the Enterprise be in this sector?"

Garak considered this, and finally nodded as Julian sat down at the console.

“What are you doing?” Garak asked as the bridge went dark.

“We need to be invisible to long-range scans. I’m cutting power. No lights, no engines. We’re running dark.”

“Ah, yes, yes, your Starfleet preoccupation with preserving the timeline. If you ask me, the universe could use some improvement.”

“Garak! Even the smallest change could be catastrophic. The alpha quadrant could be run by the Dominion, or the Klingons, or heaven forbid, the Romulans. Or even the Ferengi.”

“Well, the latter would at least be entertaining.”

“We could cease to exist altogether.”

“I daresay there are times in which that doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world.”

Julian’s eyes softened.

“Is it really so bad?”

A few beats passed.

“At this point in time, I was in Cardassia. Working for Enabran Tain. And I had no idea. None. That it would be the last time I’d set foot on Cardassia.”

He looked down, clearly on the verge of tears, and felt Julian run his hands through his hair, rubbing his scalp, stroking his face. The sensation almost undid him. The intimacy of it. If felt so good to be touched that way.   He felt raw in a way that was terrifying; the flow of emotions was overwhelming and their imprisonment had left him more vulnerable than he’d realized. 

Flashes of memory intruded into his consciousness. Tain's refusal to accept Garak even on his deathbed. The pride in Tain's voice when he recalled five-year old Garak fearlessly mounting the riding hound, and Garak's pathetic gratitude for this small acknowledgement, grasping for the tiniest scrap of emotion. Lying in the crawl space, trapped in the dark, whimpering like a little boy, unable to move.  The walls closing in.   The chatter above, Julian's reassuring voice. Julian by his side as his father lay dying.

Garak felt strong arms gently pull him in, and closed his eyes.  He was asleep within minutes, leaving Julian staring into the viewscreen, the Enterprise in the distance, wondering how the hell they were going to find their way out of this mess.

They stayed that way for a time, then Garak woke with a start as a booming voice came from behind them.

“Gentlemen! Some bloodwine for the trip home? Replicated, of course.”

Worf and Martok entered the cockpit, looking a bit disheveled.

Garak quickly composed himself as Julian tried to hide his exasperation.

“Martok, I sedated you an hour ago. How are you still standing?”

“We are not human, doctor,” said Worf as he strode onto the bridge, “You cannot keep a Klingon warrior in a bed like an old woman.”

Julian opened his mouth to retort but Garak held up a hand.

“As it turns out, we may have taken a slight detour.”


	2. Chapter 2

Worf paced the tiny bridge of the runabout.

The space was a bit claustrophobic; two chairs, limited workspace, and just barely enough room to fit four people in the cockpit. 

Julian and Garak had retired for some rest, and Martok watched Worf move restlessly through the crowded space.   

"Worf, sit down. You're making me nervous."

"We cannot just sit here and do nothing."

Martok sighed and tapped at the console.

"These controls are unfamiliar to me. Come and help."

Worf sat down reluctantly and worked quietly, making sure they continued to run undetected.

"Sensors are still operational. The borg cube is not in view yet."

Martok stood up and walked to the replicator.

"We have plenty of time then."

Martok ordered them lunch and they sat down across from one another.

Worf was silent, and Martok watched him stab at his food as if in vengeance for some unknown crime.

Martok regarded him curiously.  He knew of Worf's discommendation, of course, and he knew that Gowron had stripped the house of Mogh of its status and title. But he suspected that both of those events had been politically motivated, and Worf's behavior in the camp had shown him to be a man of honor, one that Martok would be proud to fight alongside.

And yet... there was a melancholy that surrounded him. A sense that he was not fully Klingon. Martok wondered whether it stemmed from his discommendation or his human upbringing. It was as if he was trying to impersonate a Klingon, hungry to prove that he belonged. Worf took himself so seriously. The celebrations and songs of his people, the heady rush of battle seemed to be ritual to him, important, but without the unbridled joy found in other Klingons.

Martok finally spoke.

“Worf, I think your gagh has taken enough punishment. After all, it was dead to begin with.”

He was rewarded with a tiny smile before Worf sank back into his stupor.

“Worf.  Worf?  What is going on with you?"

“It is a serious situation. This is a key moment in federation history.”

The console beeped, and Worf walked over to his station.  Another diagnostic confirmed the runabout was working normally.

As he sat down, Martok continued.

“It is hardly the first difficult situation you’ve faced in your career. Yesterday we were in a dominion prison. Surely this can’t be worse than confinement.”

Worf stood up and resumed his pacing. He was angry, and unsure about where to direct his fury.

“In a few days, Captain Picard will be kidnapped.  Thousands of people will be slaughtered. And all because I failed to protect my captain and crew.”

Martok clapped his hand on Worf’s shoulder.

“Worf, the Borg are a formidable enemy. There is no dishonor in losing to a superior force.”

“Ship’s security was my responsibility. I just-“

Worf looked supremely uncomfortable. Martok waited patiently.

“I do not wish to relive the events of those days.”

Martok nodded in understanding. They sat and finished their meal in silence.  There was nothing more to say.

\----------------------------------  
By the time Julian and Garak returned to the bridge, Worf had lifted himself out of his funk and shifted to command mode.

_Garak had rigged the transmitter to beam them back to the runabout. Surely he could help them figure this out._

“Garak, can I assume your technical knowledge includes temporal mechanics?”

Worf looked more than a little hopeful. 

“I'm afraid my skills are limited to more mundane matters. However, Doctor Bashir has extensive knowledge of engineering.”

“Somehow, the extension courses at Starfleet medical didn't cover time travel.”

Martok banged the table in frustration.

“A doctor, a warrior, and a tailor-"

“Walk into a bar,” Garak quips.

Julian quickly jumped in, “We _could_ use an engineer. How well equipped is the library on board?”

“Not nearly well enough for the specific knowledge we'd need,” says Worf, “and even if it were, I doubt any of us would understand it well enough for it to be useful.”

The cockpit felt even more cramped as they considered their situation.  It might well be their home for a long time.   Worf resumed his pacing.  The tension in the room was palpable. 

 Garak moved back to make space for himself. The walls were closing in a bit, and finally he said, "Worf, stand still!  There's barely enough space in here as it is."

Worf returned to the pilot's chair and sighed. 

“If only I were back on the Enterprise. Lieutenant La Forge and Commander Data have extensive knowledge in this area.”

Garak’s looked thoughtful.

“Actually, you are aboard the Enterprise.”

A few moments of silence passed as the others considered this.

Julian looked dubious.

“It’s too risky. Any change to the timeline-“

“Doctor Bashir, I can assure you I remember every minute of that mission. It is seared into my memory. It is my greatest failure.”

Julian and Martok spoke at the same time, intending to reassure Worf, but Garak interrupted them.

“Getting back to more pertinent matters,” said Garak, "I can see no reason why Worf couldn’t go aboard the Enterprise. The computer can replicate an appropriate uniform.”

Martok broke the silence.

“Is it wise for him to go alone?”

“You can’t risk being seen on the enterprise, Martok. Neither can Garak.”

“Well then, doctor," said Garak, "the solution is obvious. I imagine acting the brash young ensign will come easily to you.”

Julian, Worf, and Martok exchanged glances.

They all spoke at once.

"It's too risky", said Julian, "It is not a good idea," agreed Martok, and Worf chimed in with, "I am perfectly capable of handling things on my own.”

“Well, that was certainly an enthusiastic response. May I ask why?”

Martok looked at Julian ruefully.

“You are a fine doctor. But you are not a warrior.”

“I agree. Worf at least belongs on the ship. Surely Captain Picard will know the crew roster well enough to recognize that I am out of place.”

Garak looked exasperated.  Did Julian really expect to get out of this mess without some risk?

“Mr. Worf, didn’t you say that another officer was in charge of the away team to the Borg ship? An expert on the Borg.”

Worf looked thoughtful. 

“Yes, that is true. Commander Shelby.”

Garak moved to stand beside Julian, locking eyes with the doctor as he spoke firmly.  

“So all you have to do is stay out of sight until the away team beams to the Borg ship.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?", asked Julian incredulously, "Hide in one of the Jefferies tubes?”

At the look on Garak’s face, he opened his mouth to protest, then closed it as he remembered the fear in Garak's voice as he hid in a small, dark tunnel.

A look of understanding passed between them.

Martok gazed at Julian, and he nodded.

"All right. I suppose we have some planning to do." 


	3. Chapter 3

“How do I look?” Julian asked proudly, showing off his crisp new ensign’s uniform.

“How do I look, sir?” corrected Garak.

Julian laughed.

“I still outrank you.”

"Only in Starfleet, my dear.”

Julian was clearly still waiting for praise.

“You look every bit the young strapping lad.”

He paused.

"I daresay we can have some fun with that.”

Julian breath hitched a bit as he asked casually.

“Is there anything you can teach a young ensign?”

Garak smiled and pushed him firmly against the wall.

A few minutes later, his uniform was scattered all over sickbay, and Julian had all but forgotten the mission.

He collapsed to the floor, leaning against Garak, and eventually regained some composure.

"God, why haven't we done this in the last few months?"

"Well, my dear, there's the little matter of you being a changeling and our being in prison."

"Did you know?"

"You were just a bit distant.  I assumed that part of our friendship was over."

"I believe this young officer still has a great deal to learn."

Struggling put his clothes back on, he called, “Garak, help me smooth out these wrinkles.”

“My dear, why don't we just take it off again? Surely it will provide a distraction as you carry out your mission.”

Garak reached for his tunic, and Julian swatted him away, both of them laughing.

“Give me a moment. I'll replicate a new one for you.”

As Julian unfolded the fresh uniform, Garak looked thoughtful.

“What are you thinking?”

He hesitated, then admitted, “I'm worried about you.”

Julian placed a reassuring hand on his back.

“I was joking about the Jeffries tubes. Anyway, I don't mind small spaces. I'll be fine.”

"It's more than that.”

Julian waited as he struggled to find the right words.

“I'm concerned that you aren't prepared for the things you'll be forced to do.”

At his questioning look, Garak said, “In my former line of work, we made tough calls all the time. We left operatives behind, watched people die, killed and tortured when it suited our purpose. It isn't as easy as one might think.”

“What does that have to do with anything? Are you concerned that I'm resurrecting Julian Bashir, super spy? I have no intention of killing anyone.”

Julian was annoyed. Garak was so touchy about undercover work. _You've never had to make the tough decisions. I've survived by knowing when to walk away._ Honestly. This was a simple reconnaissance mission.

“Never mind, my dear. I can see I've upset you.”

“I'm not upset. I just don't see the relevance of your work with you Obsidian order.”

Garak took JulIan’s hands in his and watched him slowly relax.

He continued, his voice more gentle than before.

“If what you told me is correct, you'll have to watch them kidnap Picard.  Allow him to be raped and cause the death of thousands. Do you think you can do that? Just let them die?”

Julian looked down, and Garak felt him tremble a bit.

Garak led him to a corner of the tiny room and they both sat on the floor, Julian settling between Garak's legs and leaning his head against him. Garak began to massage his shoulders gently, kneading, stroking his neck. He buried his face in Julian's hair and murmured, “It's all right to be scared. Anyone would be.”

They sat for some time and listened to the hum of the engines.

Eventually Julian stood up, and Garak insisted on dressing him, presumably to be sure the uniform fit just right.

Julian closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of Garak placing the tunic over his head, smoothing out the front of his uniform, adjusting his collar.

He stood back and admired his work.

“Perfect. Just perfect.”

Julian beamed with renewed confidence.

“Let's go.”  
\---------------------------

Worf checked the sensor readings for the 50th time, then asked in frustration, "What is taking so long?"

Martok sighed.

“Worf, relax. We can't beam over until the last shift ends.  Are you sure the transporter room isn't manned at night?"

Worf nodded distractedly.

"Not unless anyone is expected to board at that time or the ship is at red alert."

"Well, they will certainly not be expecting us."

Attempting to distract Worf, Martok said, "Tell me what's going on in the Enterprise right now."

"The senior staff are discussing the Borg threat and considering their response. Nothing significant has yet happened."

"All right.  Then we have some time to prepare."

Martok got up, saying “Computer, one glass of bloodwine."

He looked questioningly at Worf.

"Prune juice, room temperature." 

The glasses appeared, and Martok sat at the console beside Worf.

"To a grand new adventure.”

Worf reluctantly raised his glass and relaxed for a moment.

A half hour later, Julian and Garak appeared on the bridge, Garak proudly showing of his latest creation.

“Enisgn Bashir, reporting for duty, sir.”

Worf smiled.

“You have done well, doctor.”

Martok chuckled.

“Indeed. Keep an eye on Lieutenant Worf here. From the stories I've heard, the young lieutenant struggles with the subtleties of human interaction.”

“I must play my part convincingly.”

Garak and Martok exchanged glances.

“Good luck, my dears.”

Garak and Julian locked eyes until Worf spoke.

“Energize.”


	4. Chapter 4

They materialized in transporter room 3. Both were transfixed; it had been some time since Worf had spent any time on the Enterprise, and Julian was fascinated to see Miles’ old stomping ground. All those stories he’d heard about the old days on the Enterprise, and Julian was spitting distance from his station.

Worf spoke first.

“We need to find a place for you to hide.”

“How about the mess hall? It’s easy to fit in with a synthale in your hands.”

Worf shook his head.

“Guinan is very perceptive. She will notice that you don’t belong.”

“Guinan?”

“The bartender.”

Julian looked perplexed, but Worf went on.

“You are dressed in red for a reason. We need you on the away team to ensure things proceed as they should. It would be suspicious for you to be in engineering or performing repairs on the ship.”

“Well, then, what would you suggest?”

“Garak’s idea of exploring the Jefferies tubes is a good one. You should know the ship well enough to escape if trouble presents itself.”

Julian sighed. It did make sense.

“What are you planning to do?”

“My access codes to the computer still work. If I keep my searches short and low priority, I should be able to gather information about time travel. I will try to stay out of sight, but if I am seen, I can act the part. I may need to speak with Geordi and Data in any case. I doubt they will question my intentions.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On the runabout, Garak sat in sickbay, mending Julian’s torn ensign’s uniform. It was silly, of course, they would never need it again, but it kept his hands busy.

A smile crossed his face as he remembered Julian in the uniform, boyish face crying out with pleasure, smirking as he cheekily responded to orders. The pleasure in his face as Garak kissed him, the sweat on his body as he slid to the ground.

Despite their predicament, he sighed contentedly. It had been a long few months with changeling Julian on the station. It wasn’t just the sex (although he’d missed that more than he cared himself to admit). He’d truly believed that Julian had moved on, that he no longer cared to interact with Garak on anything but a surface level. Garak had missed his friend.

After the trauma he’d undergone in the prison camp, he realized just how much he depended on that relationship.  Julian was the only person he could have allowed to witness his last moments with Tain, to view his humiliation as his father rejected him, his pain as the life drained from Tain's eyes. And he certainly couldn't have imagined allowing anyone to care for him through his panic attacks, and yet...  Julian had been indescribably comforting. Julian had always been a dear friend, but Garak had begun to consider the possibility of more.  The very idea of it was, well...  he wasn't sure how he felt about it.

Martok interrupted his thoughts as he came through the door.

“Would you like some dinner?”

He passed Garak a plate of food, and they sat in silence for awhile as Martok regarded the would-be tailor.

The man was a mystery.   Martok knew Garak was rumored to have ties to the Obsidian Order, and their mission had certainly confirmed that possibility. Still, he admired a man of quiet competence.  Worf may have blustered about Garak’s tendency to plot and lie, but the same skills that infuriated Worf would be an asset in their mission. Garak was shrewd, and even Worf agreed he had proven his courage in the internment camp.

“Do you think they’ll be able to get the necessary information?”

Garak looked thoughtful.

“Do you?”

Martok hesitated.

“Worf may be a great warrior, but subterfuge does not seem to be his strong suit.”

“That may be a good thing. From what Chief O'Brien says, Lieutenant Worf was always a bit awkward. Saying the wrong thing might not be so noticeable.”

Martok considered this for a moment.

“Let’s hope you are right.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Worf stepped into engineering with a certain amount of trepidation.   He'd used the computer to locate his younger self, who was in his quarters, no doubt sleeping before the start of his shift.  Still, being out in the open was certainly a risk.

As he approached a console, Geordi turned to him with a friendly smile.

"Worf!  Just the man I need to see. Come look at the modifications to the deflector. We'll need to combine these with a couple of carefully placed torpedos.  I've still got some wrinkles to iron out, but I'd be glad for your input."

Worf pretended to look closely at Geordi's work while surreptitiously downloading information onto a data rod.  There was a certain amount of information that could only be accessed from engineering or the bridge.  As the information flowed freely, Worf forced his face into a puzzled frown.

"Could you explain how the ship will deal with the shockwave from the deflector blast?"

Geordi sighed.

"That's the piece we're struggling with.  We need to increase deflector range so that the blast doesn't destroy the Enterprise."

The corners of Worf's mouth twitched, saying, "That seems like a significant problem."

Geordi waved a hand and said, "We'll figure it out.  Does it seem like it'll work otherwise?  Any tactical issues?"

Worf finished the data dump, pocketing the data rod.

"No," he said stiffly, suddenly extremely anxious, "it should be workable."

He turned to leave, then hesitated.

"I know this is a strange question at this time, but I was reading about the time travel of the original enterprise.  Federation history is becoming...  something of a hobby for me.  I wondered if I can ask you a few questions about temporal mechanics."

Geordi gave him a strange look, and Worf could almost read his thoughts.  _Now?  Really?_ But he said gamely, "Sure.  Fire away."

___________________________________________________________________________________

Julian crawled through the Jefferies tubes, mapping them silently in his head. With his enhanced memory and spatial skills, the task took only a small fraction of his attention.

As he moved through the ship, his thoughts wandered. When had he last been on the station? Weeks? Months? Had no one really noticed he had been replaced?

Julian felt a bit guilty admitting it, but he had been relieved when Worf and Garak were thrown into their cell. He didn’t want to see them suffer, of course, but it had been so lonely in the camp. The absence of normal interaction was unbearable and the lack of intimacy had almost destroyed him. The last few days with Garak had been like coming up for air. It was intense; so much pain, but comfort, too, and the closest to home he’d felt in weeks.

He smiled as his thoughts returned to Garak, his smile as he pushed Julian against the wall, delightedly destroying his uniform and meticulously dressing him in a new one. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d shared a light moment. When they returned to the station, maybe he’d hold on to his ensign’s uniform.

Julian shifted his thoughts back to their current predicament as he heard voices above him.

“Can I be frank, commander?”

“By all means.”

“You're in my way.”

He strained to hear, the next few sentences were too soft to be heard.

“If you can’t make the tough decisions, you should step aside for those of us who can.”

Ah. That was Shelby. Julian made a point of filing away her voice, since he planned to be on the Borg ship with her. Somehow he hadn’t realized how young she was. Had he been that arrogant at her age? He remembered his conversation with Colonel Kira when he first came aboard the station.

_“This’ll be perfect. Real frontier medicine.”_

He blushed and pushed the thought out of his head as he continued to climb.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Worf entered deck 7 and made his way to crew quarters. His conversation with Geordi had been useful; the Lieutenant was too occupied with the Borg situation to notice anything amiss.

The data rod in his pocked contained as much information as he could find about temporal mechanics. With luck, the four of them could put it to good use.

He knew he should find Julian and head back to the runabout. He had the information they needed, and they had not been seen. There was no longer any reason for Julian to go with the away team.

Instead, he continued walking through the corridor.

Opening the door with his palm, he quietly slipped into his own quarters.

Everything looked familiar. He couldn’t help but take a moment to handle the Bat’leth on its stand, and then regarded his younger self.

Young Worf looked exhausted, no doubt working overtime to deal with the Borg situation.

Worf leaned against the wall and his hand brushed the Bat'leth, which wobbled on its stand and clattered to the floor.

His younger self awoke suddenly, moving purposefully as he called for the lights, but it was too late. A hypospray pressed against his neck and he fell to the floor.  
  
Worf held the hypospray in his hands, standing over the unconscious body of his doppelganger.

For a moment, he couldn’t believe he’d done it. Then he composed himself and replicated a fresh uniform, fastened his ceremonial sash, and walked to the bridge.

This time things would be different.


	5. Chapter 5

Worf stood at the tactical station on the bridge, gathering as much information as he could about their current situation.  It was routine work, and he had enough prior knowledge to know what the scans would reveal, but it kept his hands busy and his cover intact.

Panic threatened to overtake him as the enormity of his actions sank in. 

_What had he done?  When had he decided to do this?_

He paused to give Riker a status report, but it was a formality.  They were holding position, waiting for the Borg's next move, and planning their own.

_If he were honest, he knew the moment they decided to send him to the Enterprise.  All the while they were planning their mission, he was planning his.  He'd make sure the crew returned to their own time.  But he intended to stay here and set things right._

The Borg ship had done significant damage to the Enterprise and chased them into a nebula.  It was lucky they'd found it; the hiding place gave the crew time to consider their next move.  Geordi was hard at work on a plan to use the deflectors to attack a weak point on the Borg ship, but he needed to increase the deflector range so the resultant blast wouldn't destroy the Enterprise in the process.

The senior officers were in the conference room discussing the Borg's sudden interest in Captain Picard.  They were curious, even concerned, but it was a small piece of a much larger puzzle and they soon moved on to more urgent matters.

Worf wanted to shout at them to hide the captain, barricade him in a room with forcefields, find a way, any way, to protect him.  It wouldn't work, though; at best, he'd create panic, and at worst, Worf would be sent to sickbay to assess his mental state.  No one would believe him. 

An earth expression rang in his head.  _No spoilers._   The mission would proceed as planned, and he'd find a way to save the captain himself.

 _Worf closed his eyes briefly and there was a flood of memories.  Being thrown backwards as the Borg transported Captain Picard off the bridge._   _The grotesque parody of the captain's voice that came from Locutus of Borg._ The _graveyard of ships at Wolf 359 and Shelby's flat voice as she read out the names. The look of pain and exhaustion on the captain's face upon discovering the destruction he'd caused._

Worf heard a voice in the distance and turned to face Riker, who looked concerned.

"Mr. Worf, are you all right?"

With some effort, Worf turned his attention back to his duties.  

"Yes, commander.  The Borg are maintaining position.  They appear to be waiting for us to exit the nebula."

"Good," said Riker, "that'll give Geordi some time to finish his work.  I'll be in engineering."

\-------------------------------------------

Julian surveyed the interior of the cargo bay, considering the situation.  Worf had missed their check-in; they were supposed to meet this morning to assess the progress of the mission and determine whether Julian should go along with the away team to the Borg ship. 

He almost hoped he would; despite the danger, the Borg were a fascinating species and the opportunity, however brief, to observe their routines was too good to pass up.   

And the away team!   He'd already met Data; in fact, Julian's work had allowed Data the ability to dream.   Data was younger, though, and Julian was interested to see the growth of his social functions over the last 7 years, as well as his demeanor and skills in a crisis.  And Beverly Crusher had always fascinated him.  Her son was naturally gifted, even brilliant - and without any intervention - but she seemed most fond of the things about him that were ordinary.  What would it have been like to live with parents who accepted his eccentricities?

Julian pulled himself out of his reverie.  He had a decision to make.

_What had happened to Worf?_

A number of scenarios ran through his head, each less likely than the last.  Worf had forgotten to meet him?  Hardly plausible.  Worf had been unable to get away from his duties?   His counterpart would take care of those.  He'd been spotted?  Well, he could most likely pass as young Worf, unless...  could someone have seen them together?   Could he have encountered his other self?

It was pointless to speculate.   Julian considered using his communicator, but they'd agreed those would be activated only in an emergency. 

_Was this an emergency?_

Julian mulled it over, and then decided there was no evidence of any major issue.  It was possible that Worf was simply unable to extricate himself from a conversation with Geordi or Data, or hadn't yet gotten the information they needed.   It was better to wait.

\-------------------------------------------------

As Worf held vigil at his station on the bridge, a blinding flash of light and what looked like fireworks appeared on the viewscreen.

_Showtime._

Worf tapped his console.

"Captain Picard, report to the bridge."

Worf was barely conscious of the senior officers rushing onto the bridge and issuing orders.  His fingers moved over the photon torpedos automatically, and adrenaline coursed through his body.  He knew what happened next.

Moving quickly across the bridge, Worf darted behind a console and grabbed the captain, drawing a shocked look from Riker, who was stunned by a Borg drone seconds later.

Worf pushed Picard towards the turbolift, shielding the captain with his body, but as they neared the entrance, Worf collided with another drone and was thrown across the bridge.  Losing his grip on Picard, he watched in horror as the drone tagged Picard and beamed him away.

Work lept to his feet and tapped at the controls, but he knew what they would show.

"The Bog ship is disengaging. Leaving at warp speed.  Warp nine, nine point four, nine point six.  Sir, they're on a direct course to sector zero zero one. The Terran system.  Earth."

Speaking those words pierced his heart, as he remembered doing this all before.  In the distance, he heard the officers speaking, knew that Riker had struggled to his feet and was giving orders, but it barely registered with him.

_It was no use. He had failed again._

_\--------------------------------------------------------------_

On the runabout, Garak ran a diagnostic for what felt like the 100th time. He wondered if Martok too is struggling with the lack of information, and he decided it was likely. Klingons rarely did well with inaction, although Martok seemed more patient than most.

Garak, on the other hand, was a master at waiting. Watching for an opportunity.  Letting things run their course.   Why was he so antsy?

_It was Julian.  He wouldn't even be on this mission if it weren't for me.  If he dies..._

He pushed the thought out of his head but it returned, unbidden.

 _What was I thinking?  He's a civilian.  An innocent.  Well, I suppose he_ is _an officer, but he's a doctor.  Principled.  Earnest.  And way too likely to overestimate his abilities as an operative._

Martok joined him on the bridge, and Garak saw that he was right.  Martok bore the unmistakable signs of anxiety and concern.

"Did you sleep at all?"

Martok waved him off and took a seat in the cockpit.

They worked in silence for awhile.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Martok asked, "Why did you choose to become a tailor?"

The question was a surprise.  Did they both need a distraction?

"Well, my aesthetic sense was always outstanding, and the station had a need for nicer clothing than could be replicated.  Besides, people enjoy a personalized touch. Someone to celebrate with them as they dress for a wedding or religious occasion."

Martok looked thoughtful.

"I suppose I meant to ask why you chose it as a cover.  A bit presumptuous of me, I suppose, but must we really pretend that your previous life on Cardassia never existed?  I am not Worf. I can see the need for covert surveillance, as distasteful as it is."

Garak pondered the question. Should he answer honestly?

_Never tell the truth when a lie would do.  Lying is a skill like anything else; to do it well, one needs practice._

Looking at Martok's open face, however, he opted for a simple, though incomplete, truth.

"People reveal more of themselves than they realize in that situation. Clothing is personal, and the occasions where nice clothing is worn are still more personal."

Martok nodded.

"You might consider it unlikely, but I find that Klingons reveal more of themselves than they realize when they fight.  The skills, yes, and the character, but also the emotion, the intensity, the joy."

He shifted in his seat and finally said, "What I see in Worf worries me.  He is to eager to prove himself, and too reluctant to accept defeat."

At Garak's questioning look, Martok replied, "Klingons can fall back in order to win the larger battle.  Worf cannot. And this mission is, in his words, his greatest failure. I worry that he won't be able to let it go."

Garak was confused for a moment, and then it dawned on him.

"Would he change the timeline?  Surely his oath to starfleet would hold him back.  Worf doesn't seem the type to break his word easily."

Martok sighed.

"There are many ways to keep your word.   Changing the timeline might feel like fulfilling his oath.  It's hard to say."

\----------------------------------------------------------

Worf saw Julian step onto the bridge as Commander Shelby assembled the away team.   He blended in easily in his red ensign's uniform, along with two other officers who responded to the ship-wide call for security officers.  Shelby outfitted him with a phaser on a modulating frequency, and he listened and nodded at her instructions.  He looked curiously at Worf, who stared back impassively, giving Julian the impression that it was young Worf being sent with the away team.

Worf thought quickly. Things were still salvagable.  If only the situation weren't so dire-

 _And then it came to him. Pocketing his phaser, he reminded himself to avoid shooting it, so the unique frequency would stay effective._   

Shelby tapped her combadge.  

"Away team ready."

"We've got fifty eight minutes before we have to power down and disengage."

"Understood," said Shelby, "Energize."

_This is it.  I can save him.  I can save them all.  All I have to do is get him back to the ship._

A glimmer of guilt passed through him.  Was he betraying his oath to starfleet?  Could he pull this off?

They transported onto the Borg ship, looking around warily to access any threats.  Worf quickly located the captain's communicator, and they found his uniform in a drawer.  Worf barely noticed as Data and Bashir used their phasers to destroy the distribution nodules, and the Borg drones finally woke up to pay them some attention.

Crusher shot one, Shelby another, and the two young ensigns hit another three. 

Bashir eyed Worf with suspicion.  _He's the chief of security; why isn't he fighting the Borg drones?_

His thoughts faded as Picard came around the corner.  Bashir knew what was coming, but it was still a shock to see a starleet captain with Borg technology embedded in his brain. The rest of the away team seemed just as flustered.  Crusher approached Picard, but a forcefield sent her flying back.

Shelby hit her communicator.

"Enterprise, get us out of here."

It happened in an instant.  Worf shot Picard in the chest, and the new frequency did real damage.  Picard fell back and Worf grabbed him as they dematerialized, taking Picard with them as they transported back to the Enterprise.  

As the transporter beam took them, Worf saw Bashir look at him in stunned recognition.  A second later, they disappeared.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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